John slumped into the booth across from Pat. The murder weapon was still nowhere to be found and the chances that they’d find a blood-stained knife lying around were growing smaller and smaller.
Then again, it could be anything; lots of things could make an inch wide deep cut that weren’t necessarily knives. If it had been cleaned, John would have to rustle up some Luminol to test for blood. Did they even have any, or was he going to have to wait a week for another delivery? Then there was the question of whether it would actually have the killer’s prints on it.
John didn’t know how homicide detectives did it, considering they worked multiple cases at once.
Pat’s face was hidden. John pulled down the plastic menu with his finger. “How was school?”
Pat’s nose wrinkled. “She just made me do a bunch of worksheets and read a couple of chapters of this book about a magic tree. I did some math problems, and we talked for a while and she asked me about a whole bunch of stuff. She said she’s going to get me set up with the computer. They do school first and then go to the library and work on the computers because the stuff they do is online. Then they’re done after lunch.” He shrugged his little shoulders. “It sounds okay.”
“What time do you have to be there tomorrow?”
“Like, nine-fifteen or something.”
Right. John would have to check on that. Still, “Nine-fifteen? When I was a kid we had to be at school at six-thirty and it was two miles away. We walked the whole the way. And in the winter there’d be snow and freezing rain.”
Pat erupted into giggles. “You did not. Grandma told me you rode the bus.”
“I can’t get away with anything, Grandma always ruins it.” John smiled. “This one time, Uncle Nate and Uncle Ben threw my backpack out the window and I had to get off the bus to get it. Then the bus drove away while I was standing there. They’d told the bus driver I was going home because I was sick. It was cold and I had to walk all the way to school. Uncle Grant got off and walked with me, though. He told the driver he was sick too. We got to school an hour late and we were frozen, but it was fun. We played a prank on Uncle Ben and Uncle Nate to get them back for it.”
Pat sighed big and loud. “That sounds cool. I wish I had brothers.”
“I know buddy.”
It wasn’t going to happen. Even though John’s mom had pulled him aside before they left and told him to be “open” to relationships. Something about how Pat needed a complete family and not just one in pieces like he had. As if John didn’t know that.
For now all his free time needed to be making up for the lost year with his son. And trying to figure out why someone had killed the mayor’s wife.
“What’ll it be?” Maria, Matthias’s sister, smiled at them. Her waitress uniform was yellow and she had on a whole lot of make-up. Why did women do that?
John smiled. “Two cheeseburgers, fries and two chocolate shakes.”
Pat nearly jumped from his seat. “Awesome!”
“Coming right up.” She strode away, the awkward movements of someone in pain and trying to hide it.
A dark figure stepped up to their table and John looked up. And up. The man was over six-six. He looked like a bear. A familiar bear. “Sam Tura?”
The man laughed. “In another life, I believe.”
John stood and introduced himself, got his hand crushed, and turned to Pat. “Sam’s a boxer.” He looked at the bear. “I saw that fight against Pecos. That was rough, man.” It just wasn’t the reason Sam was here.
“You fight?”
If John said yes, was he going to end up in the ring? Did he want that? “A little.”
Sam pointed a beefy finger at the window. The name on the building across the street was Sleight of Hand, the gym John had seen on Battle Night. “The paint is peeling, but the bags are heavy.”
The man was a bona-fide poet. Who knew? John smiled. “That’s your gym?”
“For sure. You think I could survive in this cage without an outlet?” Sam grinned. “It’s better than beating on the locals by a long shot.”
“I’m gonna have to agree with you on that one.” John pointed at his badge. “Sheriff and all.”
“Come by sometime. I’ll see what you’ve got.”
John didn’t particularly like losing—or being pounded on—but he’d pay money to be in the ring with Sam Tura. “That sounds great.”
“Dinner’s on the house.”
“Seriously?”
Sam shrugged. “It’s my place. I can do what I want and I don’t take no lip.”
The stenciled lettering on the front window said Estelle’s. “This is your place?”
“Long story.” He pulled the white dish towel from his shoulder. “Enjoy your dinner.”
Maria came back over carrying a tray and set it on the table with a wince. “Here you go boys.”
Beyond her, Sam narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. John met his gaze and Sam nodded. John was content to let the man handle his own business. But he’d be sure to ask Sam about what was going on with Maria when they met up at the gym.
After dinner John walked his son back to the apartment so Pat could put on his Dolphins jersey and then they headed back to the Meeting House. A screen had been pulled down from the ceiling and groups of guys sat around the room, watching the pre-game chatter. John pulled up the case file on his tablet and read over his notes, making a list of people from the scene he’d need to interview. Talking to the mayor again also wasn’t a bad idea. He needed to see how the man was doing with his grief and if he’d remembered anything else.
The lack of information was disturbing. Murder didn’t happen for no reason and John wasn’t willing to accept there might never be an explanation. Not at this point.
Pat whooped and John looked up. Nate ran down the field, turned and caught the ball. He ran two yards and threw it down.
“Touchdown!”
John grinned. The kid really needed a foam finger.
Twenty minutes later Nate stood on the side of the field. His forehead dripped with sweat. How hot was it in Florida? It was after dark there, so the stadium floodlights lit up the crowd of players. Nate looked at the camera and waved it closer. He signed P-A-T with his fingers then blew a kiss to the camera.
“He did it!” Pat jumped up. “Uncle Nate sent me love!”
John laughed, as did several people sitting around them. His son was going to win this town’s hearts over for sure.
This was what John had missed for the past year. His focus had been solely on the assignment. Situations like that where you couldn’t just play the role but you had to live it, there wasn’t much headspace to be worrying about home. Still, in those quiet moments when he was alone, John’s heart had hurt for his son.
Before long, Nate was helmeted up and back on the field. John lowered his tablet to watch the play.
His brother ran down the field, turned and was slammed by a Giant.
John winced. The guy climbed off Nate but Nate didn’t move. Pat lowered his arms. John put his hand on Pat’s shoulder but his son moved forward, parting two chairs so he could get closer to the screen.
The Meeting House was quiet. On the screen, medics ran across the field and crouched beside Nate.
John’s phone rang. He pulled it from the clip on his belt and looked at the screen. It was Grant.
“Are you seeing this?”
John bit his lip. “Yeah, we’re watching.”
Pat glanced at him. “Is Uncle Nate okay?”
“I don’t know buddy. He got hit pretty hard. But he’s wearing a lot of pads. We have to wait and see.”
“Gees, you suck at this.” Grant groaned. “Tell him Nate’s gonna be fine.”
“That might work with your girls.” John wasn’t going to lie to his son, not again.
This wasn’t telling him he’d be back soon and then being gone for a year, but it was still important. Nate could be seriously hurt. It could be something that would heal in time or he could be back on the field in ten minutes. Pat needed honesty, not truth so veiled it was basically just a disguised lie.
“Call me if you find out anything.”
Nate was lifted on a stretcher and carried off the field. John crouched by his son.
He didn’t know if this was going to work, but he had a hunch his son was enough like him it just might. “I’ll call Grandma. I bet she’s worried. If you talk to her, do you think you could cheer her up?” John smiled but he didn’t feel it. How hard had Nate been hit? “I’ll make a call too, and we’ll find out if Uncle Nate is okay. All right?”
Pat tore his eyes from the screen, where the game continued. “That sounds okay. I bet Grandma is really worried.”
His little fingers gripped John’s as they walked back to the apartment. John slumped on the couch and Pat came to sit on the other end. His son’s whole demeanor had darkened. Maybe Grant had been right. “I’m sure he’ll be okay, buddy.”
Pat sniffed and looked away. John had no idea what to say to make his son feel better. He was so out of practice it wasn’t the least bit amusing how much he sucked at this. He didn’t know what his son needed. “Pat—”
“Can we just call Grandma?”
“Sure.” John dialed.
“H-Hello?”
“Hey Mom, it’s John.”
“Is Nate okay, do you know? Ben wants the number for his coach or someone with the team, so he can call and find out.”
“I’ll see what I can get while you talk to Pat, okay?”
John handed the phone over and ran down to his computer, which had internet access. He scoured the team website and then sent an email to Grant asking if he knew how they could find out.
Pat stood by the desk, holding the phone out. “Grandma had another call coming in. She thought it might be Uncle Nate.”
“You okay, buddy?”
“Can I watch a movie in bed?”
John sighed. “That’s fine.”
What was he supposed to do? Solving a murder was logical once you broke it down into tasks. Eventually he would get to the end, and find out who did it. Navigating his son’s emotions was so much harder. Pat didn’t give anything up easily.
**
Pat sat in the back of the classroom. He wasn’t really reading from the book, even if it was more interesting than what they were talking about. He still didn’t know if Uncle Nate was going to be okay.
There were six kids in the class, but four of them were big kids and the other was a girl. Pat was the youngest because Matthias’s nephews weren’t in Kindergarten yet.
The school was only as big as one of the classrooms at his old school, plus some bathrooms. There was a playground outside but it didn’t even have swings, so what was the point? They were out west of town almost at the road to the ranch. Maybe if Matthias came into town Pat would see him drive past. But he wouldn’t be able to go out and talk to him.
Pat probably couldn’t help Aaron with the mail on Mondays, either. He’d just end up sitting here for years and years until he was old and he could get a job doing…something. A professional at BMX tricks would be cool. Bobby’s older brother designed computer games where you shot people’s heads off and blood spurted out. But Pat wasn’t allowed to play those, so he didn’t figure his dad would let him do that.
“Okay.” Mrs. Pepper looked at the clock. “That’s enough debate for today. Let’s all head over to the library and get our work done, shall we?”
Pat grabbed his backpack and swung it over his shoulder. The library was across the street, another building all by itself. It wasn’t attached to the one next to it like the ones on Main Street were. If they had to walk by the sheriff’s office, he could at least find out if his dad knew something about Uncle Nate.
The teenagers went out first. Pat followed them and the twelve year old girl whose name he couldn’t remember.
“Hey bud.” His dad was leaning against his Jeep.
“Dad!” Pat ran over and hugged him. “How’s Uncle Nate?”
“Just another sprained ankle. He’s gonna be fine.”
Pat blew out a breath. “That’s good.”
“Your uncle said he’d call you later, when you’re out of school.”
“You talked to him?”
His dad smiled. “He sounded funny. The medicine they gave him made his voice slur and he kept laughing. But I made him give the phone to a nurse who promised she’d make sure he called you on my phone.”
“Okay, good.”
“Pat?” Mrs. Pepper stood at the edge of the street, ready for him to go with her to the library.
“I gotta go.”
“Okay.” His dad pulled him close for a hug. Pat squeezed him and then ran to Mrs. Pepper, who made him hold her hand while they crossed the street like he was a baby.
The library was cool, but it was small and they probably didn’t have any comics. Mrs. Pepper typed in his log-in and password and had him tell her what he wanted it to be for next time. He did the assignments he was supposed to while she sat on a chair and read a book on her tablet-thing, only looking at the teenagers every now and then to tell them to be quiet and get on with their work.
One of his English assignments was to write a story about himself. Pat thought for a while and then typed the title.
Lost in Sanctuary
**
The mayor’s house was on the east end of town, set aside from the rest of the residential streets to the north of the road which led out toward Dan Walden’s farm. The house was also twice as big as the row houses everyone else lived in.
Both the outside and inside looked to have been repainted recently. The carpet was new, the fixtures were all modern and nothing looked anything like John’s aging apartment.
John set the paper cup of coffee he’d gotten from Sam at the diner down on the coffee table. The mayor was in a suit, but it was creased like he’d been wearing it all night.
“How are you doing?”
The house was silent and John didn’t imagine the little pillows would have been on the floor instead of the couch before Betty’s death. He’d read up on the two of them before he came over. The mayor had been involved in an extortion ring involving a consortium and high-end money laundering. He’d turned on his partner in exchange for a new identity and a fresh start. Coming to Sanctuary had been their choice, and he’d been voted in as mayor only months later. He’d been in the position ever since, although Dotty had told John it was because no one saw much point in running against him.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Father Wilson asked that. Spouted all these platitudes about God’s plan, like this was supposed to happen.” The mayor’s face morphed into disgust.
John knew plenty of people who believed that, even if it didn’t always get expressed eloquently. It had only helped ease the pain after his dad passed after he’d finally accepted he couldn’t have prevented the old man’s heart attack. He’d been out of state at school at the time, living above Grant’s garage.
“No one knows what it feels like.” The mayor sat with his hands by his knees like a rag doll. “My wife is gone. Murdered by some heartless—” His voice dropped off into mumbled rambling.
“Have you thought any more about who might have wanted to do this?”
Collins snapped up straight. “I know exactly who did this!”
John kept his tone measured. “Did Betty keep files anywhere? Notes from her work welcoming people, papers or a journal maybe? Anything like that?”
The mayor hauled himself off the couch. John followed him upstairs to the end of the hall at the back of the house. The two doors at the other end were open, beyond which was an unmade king-size bed. “My office is on Main Street, but Betty worked from home.” He stopped at the door. “I haven’t been in here since—”
“You don’t have to come in. You can wait in the hall.”
John accepted the key, wondering why a wife would feel like she had to lock an office in her own home. What secrets had Betty Collins been trying to hide in here?
The window was open and there were papers everywhere on the floor and the surface of her dainty white desk. Too much mess for the wind.
“What on earth…” The mayor looked in behind him.
“Stay in the hall.”
John crouched and looked below the desk where he could see under the window. The chair had rolled aside and there was a dirt print which looked like the toe of a shoe on the wall. The computer monitor, one of those with the tower built into the screen, was on its side on the floor.
John pulled the radio off his belt and called for Dotty to send Palmer over with their duffel bag of evidence collecting equipment.
When Palmer showed up, John grabbed a pair of gloves and took a look at some of the papers. Descriptions of people from town. Some physical, some relating to their personalities. None of which appeared to be flattering. The woman had amassed files on everyone. “We’ll need to take all this back to the sheriff’s office and go through it.”
“Yes, of course. Take whatever you need.” The mayor’s shoulders slumped like the fight had seeped out of him. His gaze flicked around the room. “Who could have done this? It’s unreal. I’ve been out of it, but still, someone broke into my home.”
Now he wanted to claim ownership of the office? “Palmer, take Mr. Collins downstairs and get a statement on the break in.”
“Let’s go talk.” Palmer motioned to the stairs and let the mayor go first.
John crouched over a pile of papers. Could Betty Collins have had information on someone that they didn’t want to get out? This was certainly a community where secrets were kept. It was also a place where things could easily become common knowledge. Besides, the people he’d met so far had been way too pragmatic about their pasts. Even Andra had said she’d made peace with hers—not that she’d given him the details.
Now was the time to read her file.
Despite the scuff mark he’d have to photograph and the open window, this didn’t feel like anything but making a mess just for the sake of making it. A distraction designed to throw him off his end goal of finding the killer, or maybe even to paint Betty Collins in a bad light. John picked up one of the papers. There wasn’t much damage that has a bad attitude could do in a town like this. Unless there was something more incriminating here or on the woman’s computer. But the computer hadn’t been destroyed. Whatever was on there wasn’t the focus of this.
John got to work photographing the scene. This case was turning up little-to-nothing of any use in catching the killer. Someone in town had stabbed Betty Collins repeatedly in the stomach and John was no closer to finding out who had done it.
When he was done with the scuff mark he looked out the window. A portion of roof jutted out over the kitchen window below, which could have been the entry point. The yard was open land merging into the trees, which curved up the mountain past where early snow speckled the grass in spots.
All green, except one spot where the grass had been spread apart. It almost looked like an arrow pointing at whatever was there. Anyone looking outside would have seen it.
John locked up the office and found the back door. He crossed the grass to where the object lay between two trees. It was a navy cloth, rolled up but long—as long as his forearm. John lifted it with his still-gloved hand and unrolled the cloth. The blade of the knife was covered with dark stains no longer blood red. He glanced around but saw nothing, save trees…and the path that led up to Andra’s house.